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"A cord descended cautiously,

Then, dipping in the river,

It fasten'd round the gills-(the thought
Alone quite makes me shiver!)

"Of a poor heedless little fish-
He gave one fatal bite,

And then he writhed about in pain,
Till jerk'd away from sight.

"On which I thought within myself,
Since such mischances be,
How know I but this very thing
Might happen unto me?

"Now all I supplicate is that

To me you will relate

The cause and nature of those ills
Which mortal fish await."

No sooner said than done-our trout
Straightway grew wondrous wise;
(They need rise early who would think
Such wisdom to surprise.)

Thenceforth he dangers understood,
Knew every subtle wile,

Each snare which lordly man employs
Poor fishes to beguile.

"The happiest of the finny tribe,"
Cried he, "I now shall be ;

Forewarned, forearmed-then say what harm
Can happen unto me?"

From that time forth, those deep cool parts
He heretofore enjoyed,
Disporting free, 'twas now his care
And practice to avoid.

"For," as he argued, "how know I
But that some pike's wide jaw
Awaits me there? and I've no mind
To fill his hungry maw."

What time the gale of evening swept
Along that pleasant stream,
Or its pure face was lighted up
By morning's rosy beam-

He rarely to the surface rose,

"For," he would shrewdly cry,

"The sun might drink this shallow stream, And leave me high and dry."

Let but some harmless passing cloud
Flit o'er that tranquil tide-
"Here come those fishermen, with nets
To capture me," he cried.

Or say he spied a worm, or fly,
Skimming along the water,

(Things which in better times had found
From him but little quarter)—

However hungry he might feel,
And longing to be snapping,

He pass'd them by; with "Honest friends,
Think not to catch me napping."

And thus, poor wretch! he kept himself
In a perpetual fright;
Throughout the day he knew no peace,
Nor any rest by night.

Now sure I am, if there be aught
Stomach-complaint begetting,
The habit 'tis (ask mortals else)
Of carping, caring, fretting.

No wonder, then, our trout had soon
Become so weak and thin,
That scarce a trace of him remain'd
But his poor shrivell'd skin.

At length he died; another proof
Of what I've often said,

It will not do to strive to stand

In Providence's stead.

That He our welfare best can guard

'Twere foolishness to doubt;

Thus thought and spake the youngest fish,

That precious little trout.

"Thou know'st, great Power, how weak I am," (Pleaded this darling fish,)

"I hardly know which way to go,

Far less to (wisely) wish;

"But since it is Thy gracious Will

That I a wish should name-
As Thou hast ever been to me,
Still be to me the same!

"Of this I'm certain, whatsoe❜er
Thy wisdom shall decree,
Sickness or health, gladness or woe,

That thing is best for me."

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It is an ancient and goodly practice for priests to retire now and then during the year from the strife and turmoil of daily life, that they may have some little break, some few moments' rest, for prayer and unbroken contemplation. This is, indeed, a custom with which few will be found ready to find fault; it is one, the effects of which are not less salutary than lasting. But there is also another habit which produces results not less beneficial: we mean the rest that wearied spirits find in converse with friends whose thoughts beat in unison, and the comfort that many a humble parish priest, located in some far off nook,

may derive from witnessing the labours of others. It is very true that one half of the world does not know how the other lives. It is also equally true that one half the Church knows nothing at all about the movements of the other half. All that can distress, annoy, and perplex; all that can throw doubt upon our position, and make us ask with trembling hearts, what shall we do next? all this we do hear, and it may be brood over; the dark clouds hang over, and the atmosphere oppresses us, and this we sensibly feel; but the brighter side is concealed from view. Whatever may raise drooping spirits is little talked about, little thought of; and for this reason, that good deeds, like violets, grow in "lowly bed," and the richest luxuriance is often found where least expected. To discover some of these fair scenes of hope and promise has been our happy fortune during the last few days in which we have paid a visit to dear old London, and refreshed ourselves by visits to old familiar places, and to others now seen for the first time. The rich tones of the musical services seem now to ring in our ears, and to drive from the mind every clashing thought, every faint-hearted impulse. Why speak of S. Andrew's, Wells Street, dear as it is to so many hearts? Why of the "Tabernacle" now in Titchfield Street? Why the gorgeous S. Barnabas, or S. Stephen, Westminster? Why of the pleasure we felt on treading Westminster Abbey once again, and joining in the service, albeit not executed with the care we could have wished? On these and a hundred other topics we will not write, as most of our readers have, from time to time, seen notices of these several Churches. We would rather lead them into the parish of S. Anne's, Soho; and after a visit to the House of Charity and Model Lodging House, would beg them to accompany us to "Crown Street." Here in the crowded street is the Church house, in which resides the priest, and behind it the Church itself. The bell is tolling for " Vespers," although it is well nigh half-past eight. Let us enter, and take our part in the solemn services. As the clergy enter the people rise, and stand until they have taken their places within the chancel. And here, before we say more of the services, we will extract a brief description of the building from the Ecclesiologist.

"The history of the building is most interesting. It was originally that well-known Greek Church built at the end of the seventeenth century, from which Greek Street derives its name, as the inscription over the west door testifies.

"It soon passed into the hands of French refugees, and then into that of various sects, and was on the point of being converted into a den of debauchery in the shape of a low dancing room, when it was purchased on faith by the incumbent of S. Anne's and

after being refitted by Mr. P. C. Hardwick, was solemnly dedicated in honour of S. Mary the Virgin.

"At the period of its resumption by the Catholic Church, it no longer preserved those original arrangements which it must have possessed when fitted for the Oriental Liturgy. It was simply a large meeting-house, with galleries round three sides. Mr. Hardwick commenced by sweeping the whole area clear of pews. A sanctuary was procured by throwing back the central portion of the east wall into a passage which previously ran behind it in the adjacent house. Then the eastern portions of the side galleries were removed as far as the chancel line. A small but sufficient chancel was then enclosed by a low screen, leaving a space north and south, which have been filled with longitudinal benches, duly occupied by a volunteer choir. This screen is open in front, with gates. The antiphonal worship of the Church is provided for by the two prayer desks on each side of the chancel, each provided with stools for two clerks. These desks are judiciously, under the circumstances, made moveable, and simple, for regular stalls would not have suited the motif of the arrangement. The lessons are read from a simple lettern in the chancel. The chancel and sanctuary are carpeted. The latter rising duly, is fitted with a correctly vested altar on a foot-pace, with a credence on the north side, and two sedilia on the south. The dossal, of rich red velvet, is embroidered with a large cross in yellow silk. We think Mr. Hardwick has been very successful in his treatment of this. It is clear that an embroidered cross ought not to give the idea of standing upon anything, accordingly the four arms terminate alike. The remainder of the chancel is hung as high as the clerestory line with a rich red stuff, topped with a band bearing a legend. Above this line the wall is diapered, in the sanctuary with the monogram in yellow, on a ground of blue, in the rest of the chancel, with a simple diaper upon a sort of French grey ground.

"The roof also of the sanctuary is coloured. In the centre of the chancel hangs a corona. The clerestory window on each side is filled with Mr. Powell's glass. The pulpit of wood, of a very simple design, stands against the most easternly gallery pillar on the north side. The floor is all fitted with open seats, with curved ends, a form selected by Mr. Hardwick to diminish the squareness of the whole aspect of the chapel, which regular bench ends would have increased. The font is simple and graceful. The four west clerestory windows contain figures of the Evangelists, by Mr. Powell.

"At the east end of the roof a large effective metal cross has been placed.

"We have been minute in our description, because we think this Church an instance of very successful adaptation through simple agencies."

Here it was then we heard as nice a service as could be. The choir, consisting of amateurs, sang the Psalms and Canticles to the tones, as marked in Helmore's Psalter. The execution was particularly good, and struck us as being especially hearty,

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